Page 28 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
Tess retreats wide-eyed, while Trilby takes a sobering breath.
“This is just a bad dream,” I say, pulling at my hair. “It has to be. There’s no other explanation. It can’t be real.”
I shake my head until I start to feel dizzy. “I don’t know that man in there. I can’t be a part of this life.”
From the depths of my darkness I sense Tess and Trilby exchanging a worried look. Their fingers stroke the back of my hands as I rock lightly, back and forth, on the cold, hard floor.
More footsteps make my lids lift, and my sisters turn to look over their shoulders. My vision is glassy from the tears and the pain so I don’t recognize the two men until they’re standing a couple feet in front of me.
It’s his shoes I see first. They’re Oliver Sweeney, imported from London. Dark tan whole-cut, made from fine calf leather. They lead me to the dark-washed jeanshe wore the time we had lunch. Back then I marveled at how tightly they hugged his thighs and tried to stop my mouth from watering when my focus grazed them.
Now, when my gaze reaches his waistband, there’s something decidedly different about the man who once saved me from breaking my neck on a wet floor, who asked me to draw up his birth chart, and who talked me down from a panic attack. Stuffed between the denim and a black T-shirt that is also criminally snug, is a large gun.
The higher my gaze climbs, the more confused I feel until I’m staring at his face through wide, questioning eyes. Even his sharp jaw, charcoal eyes and full lips that I’ve daydreamed about can’t distract me from the turbulence inside.
Benito appears behind them and takes Tess’s hand. She rises to her feet, shoots me a sympathetic glance, then lets Benito lead her out of the kitchen, leaving just me, Andrew, Cristiano and Trilby.
My older sister gently pulls me up to standing and I feel so lightheaded I have to grip the counter with my other hand.
I don’t take my eyes off Andrew and he doesn’t take his eyes off me. He holds out a mug of something steaming.
“Hazelnut latte?” I whisper, my voice quivering.
Andrew nods and Cristiano adds, “He insisted.”
I turn my face away. “I don’t want it.”
“Sera…”
I feel like I’m in some weird parallel universebecause he’s apparently a different person yet his voice is exactly the same.
“Andrew?” I ask, turning warily. Inside, I’m pleading with him to tell me it’s all been a terrible mistake. When he doesn’t confirm that’s actually his name, or respond in any way, panic continues to thread its way through my veins.
“Andrew, what’s going on? Will you please tell them who you are. They don’t believe me.”
His gaze is soft—almost sympathetic. “They know who I am.”
These are the first words he’s actually spoken to me since he arrived here in a flurry of bullets. There’s no malice in them, but neither is there the warmth I remember him for.
“No,” I say, slowly. “They think you are likethem.” I lean forward and lower my voice. “Amobster.”
When I glance up, my chest hardens.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, his affirmative gaze says it all.
I feel as though he’s just punched me in the stomach. I can’t seem to get enough air.
“Can I speak to you alone?” I ask. Maybe if I can get him on his own he’ll explain what’s going on and why he’s pretending to be someone he’s not. We weren’t dating, but I felt like we had a connection. He should know he can trust me.
“It’s not possible,” Cristiano says, flatly. “Not until you’re married.”
I almost faint. “What?” He’s talking absolutenonsense because a wedding is not happening. They’ve got the wrong person.
My gaze flicks from Cristiano to Andrew, expecting him to look as shocked as I feel, but his expression is nothing but a calm sea. He’s not objecting to the marriage, whereas I’m feeling more and more faint with each passing second.
When I don’t respond, Cristiano continues. “It’s not appropriate for you to be alone with this man without your father’s permission until you are married.”
My father’s permission?
